The last two weeks in November were devoted by the judge and his family to preparations for their departure.

As the time slipped and the interval of their stay grew shorter and shorter, Ishmael began to count the days, treasuring each precious day that still gave him to the sight of Claudia.

On the last day but one before their departure, all letters having been finished, the judge was in his library, selecting books to be packed and sent off to his city residence.  Ishmael was assisting him.  When their task was completed, the judge turned to the youth and said: 

“Now, Ishmael, I will leave the keys of the library in your possession.  You will come occasionally to see that all is right here; and you will air and dust the books, and in wet weather have a fire kindled to keep them from molding, for in the depths of this forest it is very damp in winter.  In recompense for your care of the library, Ishmael, I will give you the use of such law books as you may need to continue your studies.  Here is a list of works that I recommend you to read in the order in which they are written down,” said the judge, handing the youth a folded paper.

“I thank you, sir; I thank you very much,” answered Ishmael fervently.

“You can either read them here, or take them home with you, just as you please,” continued the judge.

“You are very kind, and I am very grateful, sir.”

“It seems to me I am only just, and scarcely that, Ishmael!  The county court opens at Shelton on the first of December.  I would strongly recommend you to attend its sessions and watch its trials; it will be a very good school for you, and a great help to the progress of your studies.”

“Thank you, sir, I will follow your advice.”

“And after a while I hope you will be able to go for a term or two to one of the good Northern law schools.”

“I hope so, sir; and for that purpose I must work hard.”

“And if you should ever succeed in getting admitted to the bar, Ishmael, I should advise you to go to the Far West.  It may seem premature to give you this counsel now, but I give it, while I think of it, because after parting with you I may never see you again.”

“Again I thank you, Judge Merlin; but if ever that day of success should come for me, it will find me in my native State.  I have an especial reason for fixing my home here; and here I must succeed or fail!” said Ishmael earnestly, as he thought of his mother’s early death and unhonored grave, and his vow to rescue her memory from reproach.

“It appears to me that your native place would be the last spot on earth where you, with your talents, would consent to remain,” said the judge significantly.

“I have a reason—­a sacred reason, sir,” replied Ishmael earnestly, yet with some reserve in his manner.

“A reason ‘with which the stranger intermeddleth not,’ I suppose?”